Alice in Wonderland
by EsmereldaGaladriel
Summary: A girl finds herself in annoying company, namely, that of Francis. Spades and clubs are at each others' throats, the hearts have no memories, and the diamonds are annoyingly aloof. Between them, the four childish swords are desperately trying to remedy the situation. Clothes change with the imagination, and the world is but a mirror of the real one. Welcome to Wonderland.
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing except this story and a few square metres of messy room.

"Just shut the hell up, Marianne," muttered the girl into her phone, "Do I really need to know about that? The answer isn't goddamn yes."

She turned it off before she could be regaled with any more stories of her friend's - enemy's - acquaintance's love life. Gods, was Marianne a pervert. Why did she even have her number anyway?

She frowned, and continued walking briskly down the path. Best not to think about that.

She was getting to school early today, because trying to print something out minutes before the bell was like trying to get a seat in a Japanese train car. Really, if she could possibly avoid getting up earlier, she would. The permanent frown on her face wasn't just due to her eyebrows.

Something unusually pale flashed in the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around, and saw a rabbit. Of course it couldn't be your typical muddy-coloured one. This one was mint-green, and seemed annoyingly similar to one she remembered seeing when she was...let's see...seven. Her brothers had laughed her out of the house. Fuck them. She pulled her phone out, swiped her finger across the screen, and pulled up the camera. Might as well take a picture, if only for revenge.

The damn thing darted out of the screen.

She walked towards it, trying not to frighten it, but gave up when it ran away. Might as well run after it, even though she couldn't see much through the undergrowth. Trees everywhere, and stinging nettles. _Fuck_. A plague on all stinging nettles.

She looked up ahead. The trees seemed to be blurring. She kept running, adjusting her glasses in the hopes that it would clear up.

It didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Hetalia, for obvious reasons. Reviews would be appreciated. As I am neither a driven nor an experienced writer, feel free to say if there are any characters or relationships you'd like covered.

When she woke up, light was streaming through the windows. And the roof.

She sat bolt upright. Where the _hell_ was this?

Let's see. A roof that had once been thatched, but was now little more than rafters. Plaster, half-timber walls — only three, though. The fourth had crumbled down to knee-height, and had been overgrown by escaped garden plants. Over the wall, there was a tangled mess of plants and weeds that had once been a garden, and a forest beyond that.

Well. In short, she was now in a ruined house that looked like it came out of the 15th century midlands, and it was brilliantly sunny outside. Can't be London, then. Probably not England, either.

She turned her attention back to the room. There was one bed, beneath where the attic must have been, surrounded by sketchpads. She herself was lying on a pile of blankets, on the other side of the room. The floorboards were very…organic-looking, i.e. covered in bird shit. In the middle of the room was a kitchen, with a sort-of stove and two tables that looked like they had been put together from the missing parts of the house.

In the kitchen, someone was cooking.

The chef was a lanky, apron-wearing young man, with shoulder-length hair and half-lidded eyes. For some reason he looked familiar.

She stared at him for a minute, trying to come to terms with the situation. A kidnapping? No, this was too weird for that. Anyway, she wasn't tied up. Maybe...

"I'm that good-looking, am I?" asked the man, interrupting her thoughts. He spoke with an indefinite accent, pitching the vowels slightly forward.

She started.

"Damn well not," she answered, scrabbling for a suitably clever reply, "But I've smelled some worse cooking."

"Yes, I must say it is very good," he agreed pleasantly, "It'll be ready in about five minutes, _cherie_."

French. That was it. His accent wasn't nearly as strong as some of the exchange students' ones, but still there. And who did he think he was, calling her 'dear'.

She got up, eventually, and wandered over to the broken wall. It was as lovely a spring day as any, and off in the distance, birds were chirping. How sickeningly sweet.

She scanned the area, and something caught her eye. In the bushes on the sides of the path that wound into the forest, there was the vaguest outline of a shape. Something that could be a gauntlet, and a stick that might once have been a knife. What even...no, never mind. Not worth trying to come up with an explanation.

She thought for a while about nothing in particular before the man called from inside the house.

"Breakfast!"

She ambled over to the smaller table, and sat on one of the two stools. There were two plates, each with a sort-of sandwich on them. A croque-monsieur, she remembered. They'd had to make them in foods class, once. Hers had been almost pure carcinogen by the end of it.

"So, who are you, and how the hell did I get here?" she started bluntly. Kidnapping was the most likely option, so she felt no sympathy.

"I might ask the same of you," replied her companion evasively.

"Alright, then where are we?"

"Between Here and Yon, and a tiny bit west of the Tea Party."

"That's bloody helpful," she muttered to herself, frowning.

She took a bite of her sandwich. This bloke was actually pretty good at cooking. Better than her and her family, at least.

"You don't appear to be able to do much harm," said the young man airily, "So I guess I could tell you my name. Francis. And yours?"

"Alice," she said, swallowing, "And I guess you're a frog, with that name and that accent."

"I am not amphibious, and my accent's barely noticeable," countered Francis,"But yes. I think I might have been French, at one time. You like the croque-monsieur, I see?"

Alice coughed, and looked both annoyed and embarrassed to be found finishing off the food so fast.

"I was hungry."

"So, then, it's my turn to ask questions. Where are you from?"

"North London. I'd think you'd know that, if you're the one that got me here. And you never did tell me where this is."

Francis looked confused for a moment.

"I told you exactly where this is, thought you're far too obtuse to recognize it. If you walk for two days on the east road, you get to the tea party. One day North, and you get to Here. Two days south, Yon. And I've never heard of London from anyone but Heracles, and he never makes sense."

They both looked at each other in confusion. Finally, Francis spoke.

"So, Alice, have you ever heard of another Alice, in a book? I think it's called Wonderland."

"Yeah, everyone's heard of it. It's a kid's book, and it's like an acid trip written down. Dangerous, and nothing makes sense."

"Ah."

Francis considered what to say next.

"I believe this is Wonderland."


	3. Chapter 3

Je ne own Hetalia pas.

Alice gave him a look that said 'are you out of your goddamn mind?', but didn't say anything. If you're eating a delicious breakfast with someone who's never heard of London in a house with no roof, you're not in any position to say what's real and what's not.

"I remember," continued Francis, almost nostalgically, "My friend's grandfather…always used to tell stories about a girl called Alice. And Heracles said that there was a book written about her. His…mother met her, you know. But I never thought it was all real. Anyway, if it even happened, it was decades before I was born, when the hearts…still ruled."

He stared off into the distance. Alice was pretty sure he was just doing it for the theatrical effect. That, and the wincing whenever he paused. Why would you act as if you had a headache every time you mentioned the past? Trying to garner sympathy for a painful backstory?

"Anyway," said Francis, getting up, "Time to clean up!"

Alice followed him into the kitchen, and dried the dishes as he washed them. No dishwashers here, she guessed.

You think you'd be more upset by something like this happening, but Alice didn't feel anything other than mild annoyance. Sometimes, you just have to see what happens, and make yourself useful in the mean time.

They finished, and Francis folded up his apron. It was the first time she saw what he was wearing.

A loose shirt, patterned with black-stemmed, twining roses. They were blood red, and the embroiderer had taken care to make the thorns vicious-looking. A rapier and a left-handed dagger hung on his belt, and he was wearing floppy boots such that might have been worn in the 18th century, if we're doing a scholarly analysis. All in all, he looked a bit like something out of the three musketeers.

She couldn't help but snicker slightly. The loose clothes reflected the loose personality, as far as she could tell.

"Are you laughing at me?"

Francis managed to combine indignation, snobbery, and apathy into a single tone of voice. Trust the French to manage that.

"Of course," snapped Alice, feeling satisfied, "So now we're done cleaning up, how do I get out of this place?"

"You're the one who knows the book," shot back Francis.

"Yes, but in the book she got out by realizing it was a dream. This is not a dream, because no one like _you _would show up in my dream."

"Just what are you insinuating?"

"I'm insinuating that my mind would never go to the bother of making up someone as annoying as you," she said, smirking.

"And it's most certainly no my dream, because everyone there has some sense of fashion. And is at least somewhat pretty."

Alice looked down indignantly, and realized that Francis had a point. A dull green suit and skirt might be good for a school uniform, but looked downright ridiculous anywhere else.

"So we're stuck. I with you and vice versa. What do you even do here, anyway?"

"Oh," said Francis, waving a hand airily, "Nothing much. Cooking, sleeping, offering advice. Sometimes I go visit the tea party. It's grown into quite the little village now, and I know two people there. Actually, a…friend and I were practically their older brothers. Well, I say friend. Mostly we just snapped at each other. Oh, yes. The most important thing I do is stay here. The farther away from…court, the better. Even though the…hearts are out, it's still dangerous…"

Alice huffed irritably. One thing that escaped her was the wincing. Was there any reason behind that? It was probably just for melodramatic purposes.

"One last question. Who's Heracles?"

"He's one of the caterpillars. One of the others is Gupta, and the last one's Sadiq. He, Gupta's mother, and Heracles' mother would have been two of the caterpillars when the other Alice came to visit, perhaps. Either way, the caterpillars are the only ones who have any clue what's going on, but they're completely incoherent. There are a few others, but they aren't near here."

Alice nodded, as if any of it made sense. Goddamn frog couldn't lower himself to give a good explanation.

The rest of the morning went by slowly. Francis hid in the corner of the room with a sketchbook, and Alice stayed in the garden. There were a few fairies there, and an interestingly-coloured rabbit. They were actually quite friendly, and they didn't have the insufferably superior air of Francis. She played with them as she sat in the grass. They seemed to have an aptitude for poetry.

"Do you have any idea how to get out of here?" she asked one of the fairies on a whim.

It shook its head.

How helpful. No one knows how to get out. No one even knows what London is. Except…Francis did say that the caterpillar mentioned it.

Go and ask a butterfly larva how to get from Wonderland to England. Then again, she had asked a fairy about it before deciding. Might as well just go along with it all.

She stood up, and brushed bits of grass off of her shabbily patched jacket.

"Oi, Francis!"

Eventually, he extricated himself from the corner and meandered over to Alice. She frowned in impatience.

"Which road do you take to get to the caterpillars?"

"The southeast one. Take that for about half a day and stop at the spruce woods. I don't know why you'd want to go there, though. They aren't in the least aesthetically pleasing — so you'd be right at home — and they don't have half my wit. By the way, quite nice. I see your clothes have finally changed."

"Half of zero's still zero," muttered Alice,"Wait, what do you mean about my clothes?"

"Your clothes match your mind, so here you really can judge people by fashion," he said, smirking, "It's perfect."

She looked herself down, and found that she was now wearing a badly-mended military jacket and a forest-green cargo skirt, if that was even a thing. It hung about mid-calf, was loose enough for running, and appeared to be mostly made out of pockets.

Embarrassed, she nodded sharply, and wandered over to the kitchen. She started rummaging through the cupboards.

She pulled out a cloth bag of dried fruit.

"Hey, can I take this?" she asked, waving the bag.

"You don't need to," replied Francis, "You don't need to eat or drink here. You can, but you won't die if you don't. Though, I can't see why anyone would want to live without fine cuisine for too long."

Well, that simplified things. No need to cart around food.

She walked out, glanced upwards, and took the road to her…

She glanced up again. It was probably about four in the afternoon.

…left, between the east and the south paths. There was a wood on one side of the house, so she guessed that was north. The sun was to her right, so that was west. Off to answers now. Or not.


	4. Chapter 4

The road wound through a forest of mainly chestnut trees, making it surprisingly airy underneath. The one disadvantage was that old growth chestnuts are impossible to climb, so there was no chance of getting up to see the sun. She just had to trust Francis. Oddly enough, she found she could. She had felt immediate annoyance upon meeting him, and vice versa. Most of the time the people you need to be scared of are those that come across as cordially friendly. Anyone that nice has got to be hiding something.

Around an hour or two later, she decided that walking was boring as hell. She'd started talking to herself to pass the time. Trying to compose poetry in iambic pentameter was proving a good pastime, because for one it didn't take that much effort and it also made you feel like Shakespeare.

She heard a rustle, and whipped around. A grey squirrel looked back at her. She chuckled, then looked up. There was a shadow to the probably-north-west. Probably a couple of clouds coming in.

While she was stopped, she scrounged a couple of blackberries from the side of the path. True, she wasn't hungry, but she liked the taste.

Around an hour later, the sun began to drop lower in the sky. A couple of fairies came out, and started chattering. She was grateful for the company.

A few more hours passed before she got to the spruce grove. The trees suddenly dropped about ten metres, and became dull green and black.

"Anyone here called Heracles?" she yelled gruffly, feeling embarrassed.

Nothing happened for a couple of seconds. Then, a cat slunk out of the undergrowth. It rubbed up against her legs, and ran forwards, along the path.

With no choice but to go forwards, she followed it grudgingly.

"Cat," said a high-pitched voice by her ear.

"Yeah," she said, answering the fairy on her shoulder, "Probably feral."

"Actually, he's quite tame," said a voice, languidly, "Aren't you?"

A sleepy-eyed young man, wearing a cloak that appeared to shift colour, stepped out of the undergrowth and picked up the cat.

"Do I know you?" he asked, stroking the cat.

"No."

"Oh well. For a moment you looked familiar. I'm Heracles."

Alice frowned. She did that quite often, in fact, and her eyebrows added to the appearance.

"Bloody Francis," she muttered, under her breath, then out loud, "So you're one of the caterpillars?"

"Yes, like my mother before me."

"Ever heard of London?" she asked, critically. The boy didn't look too sharp, cooing over a cat.

"I…think so."

She waited for an elaboration.

"And…?" she prompted.

"In…one of my mother's books. There was a…city."

How helpful. Everyone here seemed to take classes on how to avoid getting to the goddamn point.

"Is there someone called Sadiq around here, then?" she asked irritably. Maybe one of the others would know something.

The young man straightened abruptly, and an expression of distaste slid across his face.

"Why would you want…that one?" he asked disdainfully.

"Because he'd probably be more use that you at this," Alice snapped. This was going nowhere, and it was late. She was getting annoyed.

"Did someone ask for me?"

The jovial voice appeared to belong to the tall man that had just appeared beside her.

"No," replied Heracles shortly.

"Yes, we bloody well did," shot back Alice, turning towards what must be Sadiq, "Do you know anything about London?"

The newcomer looked theatrically upwards, as if finding an answer.

"Oh, I think there's something about it in one of Heracles' mother's books. Sometime around the fall of the hearts. Follow me!"

He practically skipped off the path, following a trail presumably known only to him and Heracles. She followed, and Heracles slunk along behind her, still holding the cat.

There was a clearing in the woods, and a couple of elaborate lean-tos had been built along the edges. In the middle, a few stacks of books stood up to Alice's waist. Even more were piled up around the clearing.

Sadiq pulled out — with difficulty — a thick volume from the bottom of the stack. He flipped about a quarter of the way through.

"Ah, here. Just before the fall of the hearts. Entry written by…" he said, squinting at the date, "Ah, me!"

"What?" asked Alice shortly.

"No, I mean that I wrote I can't remember most of what happened before the new court came in. No one can. Actually, there are only a couple of people who were alive back then. Either way, says that Alice mentioned it when she was talking to herself."

He smiled expectantly.

"Anything on how to get there?" asked Alice, "It's in England, if she mentioned that."

"England. Alice came from England, I think. I don't know where it is, though. Say, why do you want to know? No one visits us anymore."

"Oh," she bluffed, "Just wanted to prove a point. Asked Francis for advice, and ended up here."

"So you did," said a familiar voice from behind her.

She whipped around.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped.

He smirked. "I thought it'd be interesting to see how you reacted, dear. You're far nicer to them, it seems."

"Well, for one they aren't you. Anyway, have you been stalking me the whole time?"

Francis examined his fingernails theatrically.

"I wouldn't call it that. The poetry was actually quite nice, though I'm a little bit confused about you talking to yourself."

"I was talking to the fairies!" she said defensively.

"There aren't any fairies here," answered Francis cautiously.

"There are! I saw them."

"If you say so, dear. Anyway, time to bunk down for the night. Hope you brought enough sheets," he said, winking.

Alice realized what he was implying.

"You little w—"

"All right," interrupted Sadiq, stepping between the two of them, "You two can borrow some of ours, when you've stopped arguing like an old married couple."

Francis looked down his nose at Sadiq.

"We are definitely not married."

"If you say so."

An brown-skinned man had melted out of the trees, and was standing behind Heracles. This must be Gupta, then.

Alice saw Heracles smirking along with Gupta, and glared furiously at the both of them.

"I'm fine," she hissed, "I'm off to bed."

Embarrassed and glowering furiously, she slept on the ground. Spruce woods were normally pretty dry, and they didn't have much debris, so she'd known she'd be fine without sheets. She had been camping before, after all. Just like this, except with more rain.

She couldn't decide whether she'd rather have the rain or Francis. It wasn't that easy of a decision.


	5. Chapter 5

A rectangular room, with a high, domed ceiling. The floors are marble tile, with a single tile six metres square in the middle. Two rows of chairs sit facing each other, with four chairs lined up on another edge of the square. In the four chairs sit a bespectacled teen, a short, violet-eyed young man, a short-haired girl, and a similar-looking boy. Their names are Eduard, Raivis, Elise, sometimes known as Lili, and Basch. Lili and Basch are of the clubs, the other two of spades. The hearts were deposed long ago, but the diamonds made their escape more recently.

The spades comprise of a white-haired girl, her blond-haired sister, and their violet-eyed brother. Also there are a sombre, dark-haired girl, a dark-haired man, and a nervous-looking brunet.

The clubs are a silver-haired boy and his blond-haired brother, a redhead and his darker friend holding a brown-haired child, and a brown-haired couple, one with green eyes, one with glasses.

In front of the violet-eyed spade and the bespectacled club are chessboards, if chessboards reflected reality. A map of the world, as it stands, with pieces placed upon it.

The violet-eyed man moves a piece forwards.

"I advance the ace of spades," he says calmly.

The silver-haired girl rises to her feet.

The bespectacled man considers his move, and giggles slightly. The green-eyed woman shoots a worried glance to the silver-haired man. It seems his — the bespectacled man's — condition is declining.

"The jack of clubs."

The blond-haired man steps forward.

"Natalya Arlovskaya," announces Raivis.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt," announces Lili.

"Begin," say Basch and Eduard in unison.

The match, as most matches, ends in a mutual retreat. The violet-eyed man's stare turns violent for a moment. Raivis clutches at Eduard's hand, which he always seems to be holding. Eduard leans closer. Lili and Basch share a look warning caution.

The violet-eyed man's gaze returns to normal.

Such is court. The battles in the square are mere representations of actual battles, with the strength of the card being equal to that of their armies. Nothing very much happens. The sides are too evenly matched, and the original intent was for it to stay that way.

But for the spectacled man, nothing has gone on for far too long. He is desperate for a win. As King of clubs, he unfortunately has absolute power over his suit. And, while the violet-eyed man has the mind of a child — temper tantrums included — he doesn't want to win. Yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, dear readers.**

**I really have nothing to say, other than the Norway would show up a lot more if I owned this show/comic.**

**Read, and enjoy, or wince.**

Another room, with a lower ceiling giving it the look of an abbey rather than a castle. Again, the floors are checked marble tile. A row of chairs runs along one edge of the room, but they are empty, as is the room.

Outside the room, a pair of teenagers — one silver-haired, one dark — chat, leaning against the wall. The subject of conversation ranges from politics to overprotective older brothers.

Said brothers are at the moment in the kitchen, gossiping over a pot of tea and a mug of coffee. Coincidentally, ungrateful younger brothers seem to figure heavily in the conversation. The one with the glasses sips his tea primly, and makes a comment. His partner chuckles, and absentmindedly fiddles with his cross pin.

The sounds of an argument are coming up the hall, and it quickly becomes the subject of sarcastic joking on the part of the two in the kitchen. At the origin of the argument, a stern-looking man and a boisterous one are having it out over woodworking technique. On the sidelines, another pair of light- and dark-haired men are cheerfully discussing the habits of the two brawlers, and how some could perhaps be worked upon to improve the state of peace in the house.

Back in the kitchen, the one with the cross pin chuckles slyly at one of the insults hurled down the hallway, and heads down to break up the argument — or perhaps add a third side to it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again :)**

**Don't worry, I'll be explaining who all these people are at the end of the chapter. Again, I own nothing. If you have something to say, please review. Otherwise, enjoy!**

In a ramshackle hut, a desk lies, piled with papers. One stack is incomprehensible, covered in cramped lines of code. The other stack is covered in equally atrocious handwriting, but now in words.

A figure is hunched over the desk, skimming through one of the coded sheets. Blond hair falls into wide-set green eyes, and a gloved hand scribbles a transcription on to a sheet of paper. The fingers have been cut out of the gloves to more easily grip the pencil, and the fingertips are stained with graphite.

First word: assume 'Movement'.

A couple of hours later, the boy emerges from the room, holding up a stack of papers triumphantly. A pair of dark-haired teens and an auburn-haired one, all with curious curls, follow him back into the hut, waiting to hear the newest intelligence.

Pieces on a map are moved. Plans are shifted, and new pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

**For those who are confused, these are the sets of characters.**

**Clubs: Austria, Hungary, Prussia, Liechtenstein, Switzerland, Romania, Bulgaria, and Moldova.**

**Spades: Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Latvia, Lituania, Estonia, Vietnam, and China.**

**Other castle: Hong Kong, Iceland, Norway, Macau, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, and Thailand.**

**This chapter: Poland, Taiwan, South Korea, and Italy.**

**Any other characters that you do not meet in the next few chapters are ones for whom I have not found a suitable place. If I do find one, they will appear. If you have a character you really want to appear, suggest it in the comments and I'll try to fit them in.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I own nothing, except my skills (or lack thereof).**

Alice awoke to a mint-coloured rabbit sniffing at her. She smiled fondly, and gave it a pat. Time to get up.

Francis was still sleeping, so she gave him a kick. He grumbled something unintelligible, and sat up.

"So early, Alice?"

"If we want to get back before noon, yes," she answered, rolling her eyes, "We need to get going."

"You mean you need to get going. I'm going north."

"To the village?"

"Aren't you intelligent. Coming along? There are some people you may want to talk to."

Alice shrugged.

"Guess so. Only disadvantage is going with you."

"How cruel."

After a few more kicks and choice words, they were off along the north road. There seemed to be roads everywhere, like home.

Eventually, they found a tea party.

At one end of the table sat a green-eyed young man in a pirate's getup, with a coat the colour of blood. To his right sat a scowling boy in a suit, of all things, and to his left were a blond-haired girl and a young man who looked like her brother. She stuck to the pirate motif, whereas he was looked more like a relic from a Sherlock Holmes novel in a long, dark coat.

"Francis! So you've finally come to visit me," yelled out the green-eyed young man.

"It's only been a few months, Antonio," answered Francis, smiling.

"Really? Anyway, if Gil was here it'd be a reunion," continued Antonio, grinning broadly. The boy to his right scowled slightly.

"And who's this?" added the pirate girl.

"Alice. Turned up on my doorstep three days ago," answered Francis, "Been keeping the boys in line, Emma?"

"You bet I have. I've got my work cut out for me though, with those two," she added, gesturing at Antonio and the boy, "Lovi keeps on trying to strangle Alfred whenever he comes over."

"I do fucking not," snapped Lovi, "He's annoying, anyway."

Emma's brother muttered something under his breath.

"What was that, Jan?" asked Lovi, saccharine sweet all of a sudden.

"Nothing at all," replied Jan, smirking.

He ducked his head sideways as a teacup shattered against the back of his chair.

"Now, Lovi, we don't do that in front of guests, do we?" chided Antonio.

"No," returned Lovi, looking right at Antonio and grinning in reply, "Not in front of them we don't."

"And there's a reason for that," said Emma wryly, nodding at Alice.

True enough, Alice was very _carefully_ conveying no emotion whatsoever.

"You two should stay for tea," announced Antonio, unintentionally changing the subject.

"It would be good to have some fresh company," added Jan calmly.

"Of course," agreed Francis, "It would be a pleasure, my dears."

He sat next to Emma, and motioned for Alice to join him. Somewhat reluctantly, she complied. This Antonio — he must be a Spaniard — reminded her uncomfortably of someone, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

She took a seat next to Lovi, and straightened the spoon slightly. Oddly enough, the table was set perfectly. Then again, these four must have plenty of time on their hands.

"Nice cups," she remarked awkwardly.

They were indeed. The porcelain was paper-thin, and patterned with red and gold.

She poured herself a cup.

"Sugar?"

She looked to her left. Lovi held out the sugar bowl in his right hand.

"No, thank you."

She stirred her cup slightly, to cool it down.

"So, how did you end up with the frog?" asked Lovi.

Alice shrugged, and took a sip.

"I don't really know. I think I fainted, next thing I know I'm waking up at his place. Not really my choice. Or his," she replied, pleasantly surprised. For all the shards of porcelain, Lovi was actually pretty civil.

"Don't really know how I ended up here, either. I remember that Feli and I were running away from…something. Can't remember what it was, can't remember what happened. I think Antonio saved me, or something. His loss. I'm Lovino, by the way. Lovino Vargas. Emma calls me Lovi because she can get away with it and Antonio does it because he's a clueless bastard."

"And I'm Alice Kirkland. I don't really come from around here. By the way, what the hell do you people do all day? As far as I can see, Francis just draws. And cooks. Don't bloody know where the food comes from, but never mind."

"We don't do much. You don't really need to do anything. Don't need to eat, and if you think hard enough you can control most things. It's pretty nice, 'cept when Antonio's gotten drunk. But the last time that happened was ages ago. Mostly we just try and make tea. You really need to concentrate to do that."

As a demonstration, he closed his eyes, and held a hand over Alice's teacup. The tea rose by a fractional level after a few seconds.

"Jan's the best at it," conceded Lovino, "But the four of us can all do it pretty well."

"So," began Alice, "You can just…make food?"

"Yeah. It's like the weather. It's easier to go out there and harvest it, but we can't grow tea here. Some of the others make seeds and then grow them. How do you like the tea?"

Alice cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed that Lovino had noticed the four cups disappearing in fairly short order.

"Tastes like tea."

For a while the conversations wore on, Alice talking with Lovino, Francis alternately flirting and conversing with Emma and Antonio — who seemed to be an old friend, and Jan occasionally adding something to Emma's side of the story. The two seemed to be as close as Antonio and Lovino — no, not like that, she amended, mentally groaning, like siblings.

She smiled, almost genuinely.


	9. Chapter 9

**Don't worry, the full cast of characters hasn't quite been introduced yet. For now, I still do not have ownership over this erratic webcomic, but I do have it over this equally erratic story. Read and review.**

Alin smiled at the sight. He'd been wondering when Francis might visit Antonio. He needed the company. Also, he might be able to find out what was with the four people sitting at the table. They seemed normal, but not quite, like a single not out of tune in an orchestra.

"Anything happening?"

Alin jumped at the voice. Elisaveta. His rival, and political ally. How regrettable. He wished he'd escaped with the diamonds, but he couldn't. He still had Molly to look after, and Tsvetan. Well, truth be told, it was more Tsvetan looking after him.

"Francis has some sort of girl with him," he reported, checking the image in the basin of water, "And they've gone to visit Antonio. Looks like he's heading down the same road as your boyfriend."

He couldn't resist a slight jibe, and fully anticipated the withering glare he got from Elisaveta.

"Roderich is perfectly fine," she snapped, and stalked out of the room, "Keep watching."

"I'm sure he is," muttered Alin under his breath.

Elisaveta exhaled deeply, and shut her dark-rimmed eyes for a moment. It had been years since she'd had a good night's sleep. It was bad enough that Ivan was…not all there, but now Roderich…

Now that both Kings had abandoned reality, there was no hope of getting out alive.

She patted her apron, making sure the sheaf of paper was still there. Lately, Roderich had taken to writing everything in a complex code even she couldn't break. It didn't matter much, though. She wouldn't be able to do anything about it. The Kings had absolute power. Even a Queen or an ace could only advise.

But Feliks, Feliks wasn't tied to the court.

She slipped out of a side door, and made her way to an old oak tree, deep in the woods surrounding the castle. About a metre off the ground, there was a slit in the bark just big enough to hide papers in.

She murmured an apology to Roderich, and slipped the papers into the crack.

When she had disappeared, another figure slipped out of the gloom. He was wearing a tattered dress, the floral skirt ripped practically to shreds and the puffed sleeves stained with red and brown. His breastplate, however, was in far better condition.

He grabbed the sheaf of paper, holding it tightly with graphite-stained fingers. He paused for a moment, then shoved a different sheaf into the crack. Elisaveta was his oldest friend. She had a right to know what her husband was doing, in his right mind or not.

He walked back into the forest with surprising stealth, humming a tune.


	10. Chapter 10

A pale, blue-eyed boy wandered aimlessly around the corridors he called home. He was focused intently on the cross pin he held in front of him. Lines of tiny writing temporarily covered its surface, but they would only stay for a few minutes.

Francis at tea party with girl called Alice. Tony going same way as Rod. Liz angry. Tsve good, Mol good. Alin.

He scanned the lines a few times, committing them to memory before they disappeared. Nothing much new, thank goodness, except for whoever Alice was.

Now, a reply. He concentrated, and imagined words appearing in a basin of water. Then again, imagine may not be the right word. It, like most other magic, was more like shaping reality. Most people could influence the weather or summon up an object, but sending a message took more skill. As far as he knew, only he and Alin were capable of it.

Swords still petitioning. Nothing solid yet, so safe. All well. Lukas.

With a mental flick of the rest, he sent the message off.

**Hello again :)**

**In case anyone's wondering, the chapters tend to vary in length, and tend not to be very long. This is because I find it easier to write one short chapter per character group. It also breaks up the character groups well, compared to other methods. Otherwise, continue reading. I own nothing but the story (ish).**

"Hey, Anko!"

The tall, grinning man sauntered out from behind a corner.

"Yeah?"

"Ever heard of anyone called Alice?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A tiny chapter, this time. I do not own Hetalia.**

"They're getting weaker," breathed the dark-haired girl, "Looks like Roderich's as bad as Ivan now."

"Mei, do you think they're still safe?"

Mei shook her head, glancing over at the boy who could be her brother.

"We just can't, like, know," said Feliks nervously, "But they're not as safe as they were."

Mei remembered that Feliks had someone to save too. It was easy to forget. He wasn't really all there, you know.

"I don't think it's safe for anyone now," added an auburn-haired boy, "Since no one cares about their suit any more."

An uneasy silence settled over the group.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello again. I believe I have almost finished the first story arc, after which there may be a hiatus (not that it'll be a literary loss). Don't own anything but the story.**

Alice wondered as she walked. The four people around the table were mysterious, to say the least. Antonio was kind, but not…all there. Lovino went from throwing dishes to polite conversation in the space of a minute. She hadn't seen much of Emma and Jan, but from what she could tell, no one here was average.

She wondered who would be in whatever village Francis insisted was just around the corner.

"What do you think?" asked Jan softly.

"I don't know," replied Emma, "But she was familiar. It's a good thing Antonio didn't recognize her. Now that would have been a fight to remember."

She cast a glance towards Antonio and Lovino, trying to pick out any sign that they might have noticed too. They probably didn't though. They were higher up in the rankings, so they probably didn't get off as lightly as she and her brother.

Thank goodness they had each other, was all she could think. Otherwise, she and Jan might have to deal with the wreckage.

"Hello."

The soft voice made Alice flinch momentarily, then whip around around to see its owner.

A boy about her age, with soft eyes and curly brown hair had fallen into step with her. He was wearing a long, forest-green tunic and appeared to be carrying a shepherd's crook.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm William. Sorry to scare you, but is Francis coming to visit?" he asked, in the same soft tone, "It's been a while."

"I guess so, because he's heading towards some village or something. Why you'd want to see him, though, I have no idea."

"You are following him," William pointed out.

"That's because I have no idea what this place is. Believe me, if I had a choice…"

William giggled slightly. "I know. I've got a friend like that. Well, he's a loudmouth without a brain cell to his name, but he's my brother. You have to admit, Francis is far better than that."

"Not when he insults your fashion sense every other minute," she muttered, "And he treats you like you're five. And he won't shut up, even when you've got a good come back."

"Mmm."

"So, how many people are there in the village?"

"Oh, let's see," started William, counting on his fingers, "There's me, Jed — he's my brother, Alfred, Miguel, and Matthew. So five. And then there's Antonio, Lovino, Emma, and Jan. So nine near here. Add Francis, and that's all."

"How many other people are there, then?"

"I…I don't know. None of us have any memory before a few years ago. If you think hard enough, you can go somewhere else. But there are a bunch of mean people there, and the world's all dry and dusty. And your head feels all weird."

Ten people. No wonder everyone's sanity seemed to be slipping. You needed people — no matter how infuriating — to stay human. If you stayed around the same people for too long, you started to care less and less about how you seemed. So, if you lived with five people, or even by yourself, you'd be glad of any company.

And for years.

Now, what was that about the other world? The dry one…

"Damn!"

"You alright, miss?" asked William, looking concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, more roughly than intended, "Just a headache."

"Alice, dear, we've arrived. Why don't you clean yourself up a bit."

"Only if you clean up your mind," she shouted back.

"You really shouldn't say such things in front of young William, Alice."

"Wait, did you know he was coming?"

"But of course not. I'm just good with senses, if you know what I mean."

Alice could only see the back of his head, but she was sure he was smirking.

"Frog," she muttered, under her breath.

Francis was right, loath as she was to admit it. Sleeping in the dirt makes your hair look like something a fairy would nest in.

On that thought…

She reached up, and plucked the fairy off.

"William!"

Something that appeared to be a tanned thunderbolt bowled William over next to her. She smirked to see the look of complete mortification on the boy's face.

"Yes, Jed, I'm still alive hours into the day."

"I was wonderin' where you were!" exclaimed Jed, oblivious to William's discomfort.

"Just out with the sheep. Like yesterday. And the day before. They're good company."

"Aww, don't be so cold."

Alice scoffed slightly. Jed looked like an oversized grade schooler, complete with a bandage across the bridge of his nose and teeth that had never seen the inside of a dentist's office. Then again, she doubted anyone would set up shop here. It wasn't quite right...

She winced at the sudden headache, and rubbed her temples.


	13. Chapter 13

**I don't own anything. Read, please, and review if you have anything to say - any characters you'd like to have more screentime, any relationships you'd like examined.**

They're getting out!

Roderich was panicking. It had started about a year ago. Some of the hearts were starting to push the boundaries. He could feel them struggle. They weren't supposed to go anywhere!

About a century ago, he and Ivan had been chosen to keep the hearts' minds...hah...in check. No one wanted another regime like the old queen's, so they had wiped their memories and sent them away. They couldn't be allowed to know about the armies, or their people. They couldn't be allowed to think outside of the ordinary.

If you've ever tried to think of something specific for more than about ten minutes, you know that your thoughts start slipping very quickly. Now imagine using your mind to monitor people, and to save them from themselves. Imagine every waking hour spent split between two worlds, and trying to keep both in order.

So when the diamonds rebelled, almost five years ago, things got even worse. All of the hearts had to get their memories wiped again, and now with harsher restrictions. More work, too much for two minds. Roderich had known he wasn't in his right mind, but now he thought he was. The same irrational decisions were made, but now he believed they were the right ones.

And now there was another. She wasn't anything he'd come across before, but she seemed familiar. She was thinking about…

No, he thought, quickly sending out a headache. Can't be having that. Can't do that. Can't do that.

The voice kept repeating. He tried to stop it, but other voices joined in.

Don't trust them, they want you dead

Why don't you just go out on the board and kill yourself! It's poison, it's poison.

He looked down, and saw the papers beneath his fingers start to melt, and shift into letters he couldn't read.

Elisaveta flinched as she heard noises from Roderich's study. A scream, and what sounded like the desk toppling over. She opened the door gently, and saw Roderich staring at the papers scattered on the floor.

Don't trust her. Don't trust her! She's trying to kill you.

He was far gone. He was staring at her now, with terror. She couldn't help him now, now that he didn't know who she was.

"Roderich," she said quietly, "Who am I?"

He looked away, as if scanning the room for an answer.

"Who…?"

He knelt down beside the scattered contents of the desktop, and started to clean them up. He laid his hand on an inkwell, heavy and tarnished.

Elisaveta just managed to duck out of the room. She heard the inkwell hit the door.

You're safe now.

Roderich put his head in his hands, trying to block out the noise. It didn't feel like he was safe now.

Who could he trust?

Elisaveta bit her lip. Someone needed to talk to him. Gilbert, no. Roderich seemed to distrust anyone he was close to, from what Basch had told her and she had seen. She'd never lower herself to ask Alin to talk to him, and she suspected Tsvetan wouldn't have the tact. Ludwig wouldn't understand. So that left her with Elise. But there was no way in hell Basch would let her anywhere near Roderich, if he was this bad.

And even if Elise could talk some sense into him, it wouldn't be for long. What he was dealing with would drive anyone mad in a matter of minutes.

She bit her lip again. Gods damn whoever made these rules. People were going to die, now.

Roderich had been the only one who respected her when they were young. Sure, Gil had been her friend, but they had never held each other with any measure of respect. They knew each other too well. But Roderich had made her realize just how powerful she was.

And now he was gone, and taking everyone with him. They'd thought it would be a good idea, not allowing any card to move without permission from the King. They'd thought it would prevent another Queen of hearts.

Instead, it had created two.

She opened the door.

"He's gone, Gil."


	14. Chapter 14

**Oh, and on another note, the current format is a bunch of short chapters. If anyone would rather have the different POVs compressed into longer chapters, just say so. I own nothing.**

"I don't know," said Lukas irritably, "We're safe now. Why would we want to go to war? Guerrilla fighting, fine. It keeps the balance of things, if necessary. I don't want to lose anyone."

"We might not have a choice," warned Mathias, "It's all gone to hell. Have you seen what they're doin' now? We've still got a chance to sort it all out."

"I know," shot back Lukas, "That's the problem. We need to do something, but if we do, we could end up like them. Just take a look at the battlefields."

He took Mathias' arm, and the world around them flickered for a second. Now, they were standing over a battlefield, covered in bodies. They all wore some sort of black, with two different patterns.

The world flickered back.

"Show-off," muttered Mathias.

"Said the pot to the kettle," returned Lukas, "Anyway, you saw what was down there. Do you want that to be us? To be him? Do what you like, but I'm not going to let anything happen to my brother."

"If he even is your brother."

Lukas shot him an ice-filled glare before.

"As I said, you can go right ahead," he said, with an edge of malice, "Now I've got to go talk to the King."

He stalked off down the hallway.

Something was wrong with Lukas. He was even more spiky than usual, and acted more like royalty than the royalty themselves. No wonder Emil was sick of him. Mathias normally had the patience of a rock — well, for most people — but there was no excuse for it this time.

Lukas turned a corner, and breathed a sigh of relief as the halls faded. He'd always like the other world. He could move more easily in and out of it than other people, he found.

Mathias. Something was wrong with him, and it was worrying Lukas. Emil was his normal, prickly self, but Mathias was…on edge. Anyway, Emil had Leon as well as them. Mathias and Lukas only had each other, and even then not all of the time.

He breathed in deeply. The air here was heavy and damp.

Maybe tomorrow it would be better. Maybe tomorrow he would find out who Alice was. Maybe tomorrow he would find a compromise.

Beneath the logic, there were a few more tentative thoughts, that reached out and then pulled back, for fear of rejection.

Maybe tomorrow Mathias will be back to normal. Maybe tomorrow Emil will talk to me. Maybe tomorrow it will be all right again.

A fairy settled on his shoulder before he could get much further. He smiled slightly, and gave it a stroke.

"Maybe…" he murmured absentmindedly.


End file.
